Page 54 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

He shrugs. “Not what I’d call it. I’d call it… being all in.”

I nod. “Roxy leaves devastation in her wake… usually that devastation is me. But I get up and rebuild. She’s my endgame.”

Suddenly, Roxy shouts, “Tell them how you almost cried mid-blowjob, babe!”

I choke, “Babe! There are other people out here!”

She looks sheepish and throws her hand over her mouth. She and Mari Lynn look around, wide-eyed as people either smirk or glare at them both.

Knox laughs so hard he nearly drops his glass and calls out, “How about we take this party back to the condo… inside… away from other people.”

Our women struggle to get back to the pool’s edge. Scrambling, undignified, their arms and legs are being used like oars. It’s a chaotic mess and I love it.

Somehow, they manage and never spill their margaritas.

I walk over and hoist Roxy up while Knox does the same with Mari Lynn. We stabilize our drunk wives and grab their obnoxiously large floats, and I growl. “It was emotional! I was overwhelmed!”

Roxy grins like she’s queen of the unhinged and Mari Lynn and Knox both laugh outright.

“It was beautiful!” Roxy slurs.

Knox pats my shoulder while holding Mari Lynn upright.

“You know what? You win.” He chuckles.

“Damn right I do.” I mutter.

Looking around, he says, “Uh, wives are priority. Let’s get them inside and we can come back for this shit.”

ROXY

* * *

Mari Lynn and I must have passed out. Orgasmic dinner smells greet us when we wake up.

Grilled shrimp. Grilled scallops. Grilled pineapple. And grilled asparagus. As we eat, Knox, is also grilled emotionally, by me and Mari Lynn.

It’s our love language.

Chase’s arm is over the back of my chair like a gentleman.

I immediately ruin it by sitting sideways and sliding my foot up his leg under the table. My toes reach my goal, and I tease him. He hardens under my foot, but he doesn’t flinch. His jaw tightens though.

He’s delicious.

Mari Lynn raises her glass, and I struggle to pay attention to her instead of crawling under the table. “To survival. Marriage. And whatever the hell Roxy just texted me about a showerhead and salted caramel.”

I cackle.

Knox looks mildly alarmed.

Chase just grabs his drink and chugs it.

“So,” Mari Lynn says, grinning at me as we sit on the balcony. “Real talk. How did you actually survive couples retreat without punching a man-swapping essential oil dealer?”

Chase says, “I knew they were swingers.”

I take a bite of shrimp. Chewing slowly, then, I swallow. “I didn’t. There was almost chair-throwing. Kitchen sex… a lot of it. A perky-tittied—apparently, they are swingers— hoe bag hitting on my man right in front of me—I mean, whatever, they can do them. But my man is my man and I’m not a sharer—A blow-up, end all, fight that Chase and I were not the participants in. Crying. Banana bread sex. Rules that never had a chance of being followed. Anal play… and a lot of frosted moaning.”

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